ANOTHER DANCE

sitting after hours,
street lights glowing incandescently -
sifting through tinted & colored windows;
plants blocking some,
casting shadows of trickery -
illusions, illusions, illusions,
. . .
dance to & fro in flickering candle light.

stale smoke taints the air,
and softly music drifts up from the dance floor -
ticking of my watches beats a rhythm into my mind;
the wheels are turning,
thoughts streaming through emptiness -
decisions, decisions, decisions,
. . .
mind made up.

must face responsibilities,
must stand & “face the music” -
before, i would have sought easy outs;
i’m learning to “dance,”
i still trip & stumble -
suicide, suicide, suicide,
. . .
isn’t the answer. . .

wil becker
1995.11.11